


Legacy of Rymnius

by Samuraider



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alcohol, Angst, Blood and Gore, Dragons, Fantasy, Fluff, Gen, Headcanon, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-09-26 13:45:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9900944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samuraider/pseuds/Samuraider
Summary: Rymnius Aedahl desired an adventure when he left his homeland of Hammerfell. But after one erroneous decision, he found himself flung into the chaos of war that has plagued the land of Skyrim. Now challenged with the rising threat, Rymnius must decide the fate of the world if he ever wishes to return home.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure I'll get some flak for introducing a biracial Dragonborn|Dovahkiin, but I wanted a character who represented something more than just the generic tradition of selecting one race. I did adhere to the Notes on Racial Phylogeny and Biology book to maintain lore when developing my main character.

Rymnius Aedahl, like any other adventurer with a curious mind for the world, traversed the continents of several sovereignties in pursuit of fame and fortune. However, as fate would have it, other arrangements were formed against his aspiring dreams. On an ill-fated night, the bitter cold continuously nipped against the fur cloak Rymnius had wrapped around himself as he trudged along the passage that led into the Nord dominated realm called Skyrim.

He yearned for the warmth of the sun, and the days he would spend practicing the revered sword techniques so many Redguards glorified. Based on his tall stature, Rymnius can wield the hefty greatswords and battleaxes instead of the traditional scimitars. But for Rymnius, he was proficient with swords and shields as well as the art of magic. A genetic trait he acquired from his paternal side of the family.

The wintery breath of snow and wind brought him back to his current situation in the land of Skyrim. Tugging the fur cloak closer around him, Rymnius glimpsed a hint of firelight through the swirls of snowflakes. Stopping momentarily to assure himself that it was, or so he hoped, an inn, Rymnius pushed through the blizzard towards the dim glow in the near distance.


	2. One Fateful Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've altered some of the dialogues in this chapter, which will be a somewhat reoccurring theme when compared to the in-game dialogue.

Entering Darkwater Crossing was perhaps his least strategic idea since embarking on this adventure. At the break of dawn, the prisoners were loaded onto wagons. Rymnius remained silent during the entire process, avoiding any form of confrontation with the Imperial soldiers as they escorted the captured Stormcloaks away from Darkwater Crossing.

The ragged tunic Rymnius was forced to wear provided little protection against the bitter wind sweeping in from the Pale. There was a guarantee that the Imperial soldiers dispersed his entire gear amongst themselves. Whatever became of his possessions, he was thankful he left the family heirloom back in Hammerfell. It once belonged to his father, who kept it locked within a chest. His father rarely discussed his past, but Rymnius remembered the times his father devoted to helping Rymnius on spells and enchantments.

“The ability to conjure and manipulate magic fluently flows in your veins. You must be patient for even the simplest mistake can result in tragedy,” his father would remind him during each training session. Rymnius always regretted not spending enough time with his father during his younger years. The moments Rymnius devoted to developing and harnessing his sword skills, his father spent in the study pouring over scrolls and tomes. The last time Rymnius recalled seeing his father was at the docks watching as his father sailed off to the Summerset Isle.

Rymnius was jarred from his dreams as the wagon jolted over the remnants of broken branches and dislodged rocks. His mind was muddled as he glanced around his surroundings. Rich foliage and the chirrup of birds reverberated through the wilderness as the wagons continued along the cobblestone road.

A fair-haired Nord glanced over to Rymnius and arched an eyebrow before mulling over the idea that they had privacy to speak to one another. After careful consideration, the Nord finally spoke up to Rymnius.  
“Hey, you. You’re finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there.” The Nord gave a brief nod towards a dark-haired passenger garbed in tattered clothes.

“Damn you Stormcloaks,” the thief sputtered, “Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn’t been looking for you, I could’ve stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell.”

Rymnius made the mistake of looking over to the horse thief at the mention of his homeland. The begrimed thief swiftly caught eye contact with Rymnius. “You there… you and me, we shouldn’t be here. It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.”

“We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief,” the fair-haired Nord retorted resulting in the thief furrowing his eyebrows in annoyance. Before he could respond back, an Imperial soldier ordered them all to cease talking.

The horse thief muttered under his breath while fiddling with his restraints. A few seconds crept by and the thief, unwilling to remain silenced, eyed a prisoner situated next to Rymnius. “And what’s wrong with him, huh?”

Seemingly bothered by the intrusive question, the Nord abruptly snarled, “Watch your tongue. You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King.”

The thief’s eyes widened as he nervously gazed at Ulfric Stormcloak. “Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You’re the leader of the rebellion. But if they’ve captured you… oh gods, where are they taking us?”

“I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits.” The Nord focused solemnly upon the ropes intertwining his hands and paid no mind to the fidgeting horse thief beside him.

“No, this can't be happening. This isn't happening.” The thief kept glancing around anxiously while tugging at the ropes that bound his hands. Desperately to free himself from his confines, he was unaware of a nearby Imperial soldier observing him with narrowed eyes.

With the constant toying of the rope drawing the fair-haired Nord’s attention, he noticed the Imperial soldier watching. To prevent further unwanted attention, he struck up a conversation with the thief. “Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?”

The thief ceased fidgeting with the restraints and scowled at the Nord. “Why do you care?

“A Nord's last thoughts should be of home.”

Hesitating to respond, the thief sighed while watching the scenery flow by. “Rorikstead. I'm... I'm from Rorikstead.

“General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!” An Imperial soldier called out the moment the wagons arrived at Helgen. Rymnius no longer paid attention to the conversation between the Nord and horse thief, but instead focused on a group of Thalmer, and who he presumed was General Tullius. Rymnius wasn’t entirely sure what was being discussed between them, but the uneasiness he felt since arriving at Helgen only intensified.

The prisoners continued onwards until coming to a complete halt as Imperial soldiers surrounded the wagons. As he shambled out of the wagon, an Imperial Captain started barking orders for all prisoners to line up immediately.

The fair-haired Nord waited patiently next to Rymnius as the Imperial soldiers checked off their lists as they called out the prisoners’ names. “Empire loves their damn lists,” he muttered under his breath.

“Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm.” The Stormcloak leader stepped forward squaring his shoulders in a defiant manner before being shoved towards the line by Imperial soldiers. Soon, the fair-haired Nord, whose name was Ralof, joined his comrades but lacked the rebellious manner that his leader presented when escorted.

When the horse thief’s name was called out, he broke down shrieking while pleading miserably for his life. Prostrating himself in submission, he continued to beg for mercy. He was suddenly jerked up by two Imperial guards who began escorting him towards the line of Stormcloak prisoners. As if plagued by a violent demeanor, the thief broke free from their grasps and started running.

By the Imperial Captain’s orders, he was brought down within seconds by an archer’s arrow. His body continued twitching upon the ground until one of the soldiers pierced their sword through the back of his head. The Imperial Captain, sneering triumphantly, turned towards the prisoners. “Anyone else feel like running?” When no one dared to challenge her question, she ordered the soldiers to carry on with their responsibilities.

Rymnius stared at the limp body of the horse thief, who was referred to as Lokir. He was accustomed to bloodshed and gore, but what he witnessed was a horrendous act of a man caught in the crosshairs of warfare. Still boggled by the abrupt death, an Imperial soldier drew his attention away from the lifeless corpse.

“Wait, you there. Step forward. Who are you?”

Rymnius was slow to respond to the request, which made the Imperial Captain furrow her eyebrows in annoyance. Pursing his lips in contemplation, Rymnius decided an honest answer was as good as any if he wishes to live a little longer. “Rymnius from Hammerfell.”

“You’re a bit tall for a Redguard,” the soldier said after analyzing Rymnius’ stature. Rymnius opened his mouth to respond when the Imperial Captain snapped, “Enough. Take him over to the line.” Rymnius was briskly shoved over to join the line with the Stormcloak soldiers.

General Tullius was already engaged in a conversation with several of his officers before turning his attention to Stormcloak leader. “Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne.”

The conversation between the Jarl and General Tullius was interrupted by what appeared to be a rumbling noise echoing along the mountains. Rymnius craned his neck towards the mountains to determine where the sound originated from. Several of the Imperial soldiers and Stormcloak captives started mumbling until General Tullius instructed everyone to carry on.

The Imperial Captain turned to the Priestess of Arkay, “Give them their last rites.”

Stepping forward, the Priestess of Arkay began reciting the rites, “As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved…”

“For the love of Talos, shut up and lets get this over with,” the Stormcloak prisoner interjected as he moved toward the headsman, “Come on, I haven't got all morning.” The Priestess of Arkay solemnly nodded towards the headsman before stepping away. The Stormcloak prisoner was shoved onto his knees without hesitation. As he lowered his head across the chopping block, he chuckled, “My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?”

Rymnius only caught the glint of sunlight across the headsman's ax as he watched the head become severed. Verbal spats rang out between Imperial and Stormcloak supporters soon afterward. General Tullius glanced around as each Imperial soldier acknowledged his non-verbal request of maintaining order. Rymnius was vaguely aware of being pushed towards the chopping block, by the Imperial Captain’s orders, until he was forced to kneel where the previous Stormcloak prisoner was.

Blood was still pooled atop the wooden block. Rymnius immediately isolated himself from the impending death all around by resuscitating more favorable memories of home. He couldn’t even recall when the dark wingspans of some creature latched atop the tower appeared, or why everyone was running as chaos rained down from above. The only thing bringing him back to reality was Ralof yelling at him nearby. Scrambling to get up, Rymnius dashed across the open grounds and into the tower. As Ralof slammed the door shut, he turned to glance at Rymnius before conversing with the Jarl of Windhelm.

“Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Could the legends be true?”

“Legends don't burn down villages,” Ulfric Stormcloak stepped away from the entrance as a large explosion clashed with the exterior walls, “We need to move, now!”

Everything soon afterward was a blur for Rymnius as he escaped from the madness through the underground tunnels of Helgen. Stepping out into the sunlight from the cave entrance, Rymnius shielded his eyes from the blaring sun until Ralof pulled him off to the side of the path to avoid detection. “Wait!”

As the large creature flew across the tree lines towards the mountains, Ralof finally stood up, “There he goes. Looks like he's gone for good this time.” Rymnius watched as the black creature fade into obscurity as it left their line of sight.

“No way to know if anyone else made it out alive. But this place is going to be swarming with Imperials soon enough. We'd better clear out of here.” Ralof started walking down the path. Rymnius hesitated briefly to scan the surrounding area before rejoining Ralof on his travels back to Riverwood.

“Didn’t think my adventuring days would result in a near escape from death,” Rymnius quipped.

Ralof chuckled, “Believe me, your adventuring days have just begun.”


	3. Damn Farengar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would have updated the story sooner, but I'm also in the process of studying for an upcoming exam, which requires a lot of attention.  
> Better late than never, right?  
> Anyways, enjoy!

The glint of spider webs gave off an ominous vibe as Rymnius swept the torch along its intricate design. “Marvelous,” he grumbled as he shredded his way through the webbed barricades. Off in the distance, he could hear the melodramatic whimper of some besotted soul echoing along the corridors. Hacking through the final layers of cobweb, he slowly inched his way around the curve of the tunnel. Rymnius winced as his boot crunched against the rubble.

“Is… is someone coming?” the shrill voice eked out, “Is that you Harknir? Bjorn? Soling?”  
Rymnius peered around the arched doorway to where the male Dunmer was failing miserably to free himself from the cobweb. The Dunmer’s face distorted into pure horror and he began shrieking. “No! Not again!” He flailed about as a massive frostspider descended from above. “Kill it! Kill it! Get me out of here!”

Rymnius groaned as he hefted his two-handed sword. “Damn Farengar.”

******

After freeing his sword from the frostspiders corpse, he grimaced as the residue sluiced off in thick clumps and splattered upon the floor. Rymnius made a feeble attempt to clean the remainder of the carnage on the remnants of some moth-eaten cloth he found on a battered shelf.

The Dunmer cleared his throat drawing the attention back to him. “You! Over here! You did it! You killed it! Now cut me down before anything else shows up.”

Rymnius trudged over to the Dunmer, who remained bound helplessly within the webs. “Where’s the golden claw?”  
Confusion crossed the Dunmer's face for the briefest of moments before responding. “Yes, the claw. I know how it works! The claw, the markings, the door in the Hall of Stories. I know how they all fit together!” He tugged against the webbing for extra effect. “Help me down, and I’ll show you. You won’t believe the power the Nords have hidden there!”

“How about you just hand it over.”

“Does it look like I can move? You have to cut me down first.”

Rymnius exhaled slowly and sheathed his sword while unlatching a dagger from his belt. He worked the dagger through several layers of cobweb while keeping a watchful eye on the Dunmer.

“It’s coming loose. I can feel it,” the Dunmer said delightfully while Rymnius continued shearing away with the dagger. Eventually, the Dunmer tumbled freely landing on his buttocks with an “Oof!” He scrambled up and started brushing the traces of webbing off his clothing, but paused abruptly when Rymnius approached him.

Rymnius held out his hand, “The claw.”

To Rymnius’ distaste, the Dunmer smirked and quickly bolted down the corridor.

“And now you’re running. Great.” Rymnius pinched his eyebrows and sighed heavily.

“You fool! Why should I share the treasure with anyone?” the Dunmer exclaimed triumphantly as he continued his spree down the corridor.

“Damn Farengar,” Rymnius spat.

*************

The agonizing scream reverberated down the corridor forcing Rymnius to a complete stop. He waited silently for a few seconds before proceeding. Silence. Rymnius willed himself to move forwards but kept to the shadows. After dispatching a few Draugrs’ along the way, he finally came across the Dunmer’s corpse.

“How unfortunate,” Rymnius prodded the corpse with the tip of his sword before stooping down and searching the deceased Dunmer’s belongings. A hint of gold peeked through the trinkets and gadgets within the small satchel Rymnius tugged free from the corpse's belt. Shaking it slightly further revealed a golden talon.

He plucked the golden claw from the satchel and held it out to examine; rotating it back and forth observing all the curves and designs around it. “What in the Oblivion does this do?” Rymnius stood up while scrutinizing the object. “Perhaps this will lead me to whatever power these Nords once possessed.” He placed the claw back into the satchel and tied it to his belt before proceeding deeper into Bleak Falls Barrows.

After a while, Rymnius came face-to-face with an unusual doorway, which more or less befuddled him by the complexity of the locking mechanisms. The symbols ingrained into the golden claw were also represented on the stone door. He started sliding the circular panels to match the images depicted on the golden claw. Once satisfied, Rymnius inserted the golden claw into the slot. There was a click in response resulting in the stone door shivering and descending downward into the ground.

“Well, that was easy enough. Too easy to be precise.” He felt the uneasiness creep through his skin as he stepped forwards into darkness. The dreadful feeling of the unknown sent chills down his spine. Something was waiting… or someone. Rymnius conjured just enough luminosity to make his way through the corridor that opened up into a cavern. A decent amount of light filtered in through the cracks in the ceiling cloaking a stone wall in an eerie hue.

A faint hum resonated from the stone wall. Almost alluring if Rymnius wasn’t concerned about the stone sarcophagus sitting not far from it. He remained alerted as he crept closer to the stone wall. Mere feet away from the humming sound the words began glowing a faint blue as if beckoning to him. Mesmerized by the symbols, Rymnius proceeded to walk towards the words.

“What kind of language is this?” As if in response to his curiosity, the words began to pulsate and drift towards him in an ethereal aura of blue. Rymnius was momentarily enveloped by the strange blue aura before it dematerialized around him. “Well, that was weird.”

He scanned the stone wall realizing that it once again remained dormant after the odd phenomenon. Rymnius shrugged just prior to the grinding sound of stone behind him. Pivoting towards the sarcophagus, Rymnius watched as the decomposing corpse of a Draugr shoves the stone lid aside before emerging from its eternal sleep.

“Well, shit…” Rymnius muttered under his breath as the Draugr finally erected itself in a standing position. It slowly rotated its head toward his direction, its glowing eyes scrutinizing the intruder with loathing distaste. The remnants of stretched skin provided the unsightly sneer upon the Draugr’s face as it unsheathed its weapon.

 “Guess we’re not going to talk this through,” Rymnius quipped before positioning his two-handed sword for defense.

As if insulted, the Draugr leaped forward slamming the battle-axe in a downward swipe, which Rymnius deflected instantly. The snarl emanating from the Draugr’s mouth sent shivers down Rymnius’ spine, but it did little to make him falter in his combative tactics.    

The Draugr continued to test Rymnius’ defenses but maintained a certain distance from its foe. The constant clanging of metal upon metal echoed throughout the cavern as the two continued to circle one another while attempting to bypass their opponents guard. Rymnius felt the trickle of sweat down his face as he countered each attack from the Draugr, who was relentless on its onslaught one after another.

After what felt like hours, Rymnius could feel his entire body aching as adrenaline slipped from his veins. He vigorously trained for combat throughout most of his life but never against an undead creature who showed no lethargy the entire time. Rymnius was all too aware that he couldn’t keep the momentum up for much longer. Stumbling backward, he found his back pressed up against the stone wall with the strange words carved into. Cursing himself for his lack of consciousness and momentary stupidity, Rymnius tried to concentrate on the approaching Draugr.

“All those years of sleep must have prepared you for this,” Rymnius said as he balanced his sword for any incoming attacks, “If I knew I’d be fighting a Draugr of your stance, I probably would have caught up on some sleep myself.”

The Draugr, appearing devoid of all emotions except vengeance, continued to walk towards Rymnius; its glowing eyes focused solely on him and nothing else. As the Draugr approached, it raised the ancient battle-axe for a downward slash, assuming to break Rymnius’ defenses and put an end to his life. Rymnius gritted his teeth in preparation and just as the battle-axe began falling, Rymnius twisted out of its path. The head of the battle-axe shattered against the stone wall, its metal shards spraying through the air. The Draugr glanced at Rymnius and this time neither hate nor vengeance emanated from the glowing orbs within the eye sockets, but confusion.

“That’s unfortunate,” Rymnius smirked as he sliced downward with his own sword. The blade severed the Draugr’s head and within seconds the decomposing body crumpled to the floor while the head rolled against the stone wall. Rymnius watched as the glow diminished from the Draugr’s eye sockets before investigating the sarcophagus.

Nestled at the bottom was a stone tablet of some sort, which Rymnius picked up hesitantly. He skimmed over the symbols inspecting it to reassure himself that it was the Dragonstone he was sent to retrieve. Finally satisfied with his discovery, Rymnius made his way out of Bleak Falls Barrow, but not without muttering “Damn Farengar,” several times in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I created my own twist to the Draugr Overlord battle. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it.


End file.
